The neighbors said many fine words agreeing with Maum Hannah, but they looked to the child’s hair and tiny nails and could hardly wait to get outside of Mary’s door before they began whispering behind their hands that Mary’s child was not a too-soon one. He was full ripe, come to full time. Mary was a sinner. Mary knew exactly what they were saying. But what if she had been married only half a year? What difference did it make? July was her lawful, wedded husband now, and her baby’s father. What more could they ask?
July was as pleased as he could be. He hurried to Grab-All for the castor-oil Maum Hannah said Mary must have, and he not only brought back a jug of whisky for everybody to take a drink, but a piece of fine cloth for a dress for Mary. He named his son Unexpected. Mary had never heard that name before, but July explained to her that it meant coming as a great surprise. The baby had done that very thing. They would call him Unex for short; a nice name, a pleasant-sounding name.
Blessed little Unex, a better baby never came into the world. Happiness filled Mary’s heart. Life was full of joy. She could have asked for nothing more in the world.
IX
On a fine afternoon in the late summer, Mary stayed at home to wash the clothes and to cook a fine fat possum July had caught the night before for supper.
The Quarter street was quiet, except for the children playing around Maum Hannah’s door, while their mothers were in the field picking the first cotton that was opening. The stillness was peaceful except when merry laughter drifted in from the cotton-pickers. Contentment filled the world as Mary went about her tasks, humming low to herself so as not to wake the baby, stopping now and then to look at him as he slept.
Sunshine fell on the floor through the open window making the room look cheerful and bright. Outside in the yard, the clean clothes were hanging on the line, drying. Inside, all the pots on the hearth steamed merrily, the possum was roasting, new potatoes were softening in the ashes. When the rooster hopped up on the doorstep, flapped his wings three times and crowed, Mary stopped to listen, for that rooster had sense. He always knew when somebody was coming and gave her notice. He crowed every hour in the day to tell the time, then at midnight and again at dawn. No clock could have been better, but whenever he came up to the door and flapped his wings three times and crowed, Mary might as well stop and get ready for company. Her clothes were wet through with sweat, and she must change them before she got caught looking like a fright.
She had hardly put a fresh white apron on over her clean dress when who should walk in but Cinder. A surprise indeed. That rooster was wise. Yet, in spite of all the warning he had given, Mary felt upset and disturbed. A cloud passed over the sun and dimmed the day and gave the air a queer greenish light. Why had Cinder come back?
“Is I scared you?” Cinder asked with a dry little laugh. “You jumped all over when you seed me.”
“No—no—you just make me feel surprise. I didn’ know you was home an’ when my eyes first fell on you, I thought right at first, you might be a sperit.”
“No, gal, I sho ain’ no sperit. Dis is de same old mean Cinder a-walkin in de flesh.”
As they shook hands slowly, Mary noticed that Cinder’s hand was as hot as fever, so she said as kindly as she could, “Come set down whe de air is cool here by de window, an’ tell me how you do an’ whe you been.” Mary tried her best to sound pleased and cordial as she placed the chair beside the window.
Cinder sat down carefully, spreading out the fine rustling cloth of her black silk skirt. She was dressed in the finest of clothes. Gold was in her front teeth, and her cheeks were covered with a dust of white powder which made her look pale and strange. She was nervish too. Her hands acted tremblish and her face had a twist-mouth look.
Talk was hard to make. “How’s July?” Cinder asked and Mary answered, “July’s well,” then a silence lay heavy between them again.
“You is mighty dressed up and it a Friday.” Cinder smoothed out her skirts again.
Mary answered as politely as she could that the rooster had flapped his wings and crowed three times at the door, so she knew somebody was coming. She had changed her clothes to look decent to meet her visitor.
A sudden gust of wind came down the chimney and blew ashes over the hearth and a smell of food rose in the room. Cinder sniffed and gave a short laugh.
“Jedus, Gawd, is dat possum I smell? I ever was raven about possum. Do, for Gawd’s sake, le me taste em.”
She spoke with her old bold ease, and asked for the possum as if she had a perfect right to it.
Mary got up and filled two pans, one for Cinder and one for herself, for she had not stopped to eat any food since early breakfast. Cinder took up her spoon and began eating slowly and looking around the room. “You house looks nice and clean, Si May-e,” she praised. “You ever was a good scourer. But how-come you ain’ got no chimney on you lamp?”
Mary swallowed a mouthful before she answered. “De chimney got broke, but de fire gives plenty of light. Me an’ July don’ set up late.”
Cinder’s round eyes narrowed a little.
“It’s awful bad luck for a lamp chimney to break, enty?”
“I
